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BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 



THE GATES AJAR. i6mo #15° 

Illustrated Edition. Full gilt 3.50 

MEN, WOMEN, AND GHOSTS. i6mo 1.50 

HEDGED IN. i6mo i 50 

THE SILENT PARTNER. i6mo i 50 

WHAT TO WEAR? i6mo. Cloth i.oo 

Paper 50 

THE TROTTT BOOK. Illustrated. Small 4to . . i 50 

TROTTY'S WEDDING TOUR. Illustrated. Small 

4to 1-50 



*»* For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, ofi receipt of 
price by the Publishers, 



JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston. 



POETIC STUDIES 



y 



ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS,-Y/'o^ 



AUTHOR OF THE GATES AJAR, ETC., ETC. 




BOSTON: 

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 

Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields. Osgood, & Co. 
1875. 







Copyright, 1875. 
By JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. 



JX - ^f^^ 



University Press: Welch, Bigelow, & Co., 
Cambridge. 



CONTENTS 



Page 

That never was on Sea or Land. . . . .11 

Divided 18 

The Lost Winter 20 

Apple-Blossoms 25 

Rain 28 

Petronilla 30 

Two Ifs 45 

A Question 47 

In Teeth of Fate 49 

"Did you speak?" 51 

Broken Rhythm 56 

On the Bridge of Sighs 57 

Hide-and-go-seek .... • • • 59 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

Giving of Thanks 6i 

Feeling the Way ^3 

Learning to Pray 64 

What the Shore says to the Sea . . . .66 

What the Sea says to the Shore .... 69 

Atalanta 73 

A Letter 75 

An Autumn Violet 78 

Deserted Nests 80 

The Difference 81 

Congratulation 83 

GOOD-RY 88 

Two Faces 90 

Land-bound 96 

A Message 98 

Escaped * . . .101 

Song 103 

" Of a Family of Reformers " 105 

A Dead Lily 109 

Benediction no 



CONTENTS. IX 

"Only a Chromo" 112 

A Woman's Mood 119 

A Man's Reply 127 

Evening Prayer 132 

Saturday Night in the Harbor .... 134 

The Lost Poem 137 

All the Rivers 139 



THAT NEVER WAS ON SEA OR LAND. 

I DREAMED that Same old dream' again last night; 
You know I told you of it once, and more : 
The sun had risen, and looked upon the sea. 
And turned his head and looked upon the shore, 
As if he never saw the world before. 

What mystic, mythic season could it be ? 
It was October with the heart of May. 
How count they time within love's calendar ? 
Dreaming or waking, I can only say 
It was the morning of our wedding-day. 



12 THAT NEVER WAS ON SEA OR LAND. 

I only know I heard your happy step, 

As I sat working on my wedding-day 

Within my usual place, my usual task ; 

You came and took the pen, and laughing^ 

" Nay ! " 
You said, "no more this morning! Come away!" 

And I, who had been doing dreamily 
Within my dream some fitful thing before, 
(My pen and I were both too tired to stop,) 
Drew breath, — dropped all my work upon the 
floor. 

And let you lead me mutely to the door, 

It 

And out into a place I never saw, 

Where little waves came shyly up and curled 



THAT NEVER WAS ON SEA OR LAND. 1 3 

Themselves about our feet ; and far beyond 
As eye could see, a mighty ocean swirled. 
" We go," you said, " alone into the world." 

But yet we did not go, but sat and talked 
Of usual things, and in our usual way ; 
And now and then I stopped myself to think, — 
So hard it is for work-worn souls to play, — 
Why, after all it is our wedding-day ! 

The fisher-folk came passing up and down. 
Hither and thither, and the ships sailed by, 
And busy women nodded cheerily ; 
And one from out a little cottage came, 
With quiet porches, where the vines hung 
high, 



14 THAT NEVER WAS ON SEA OR LAND. 

And wished us joy, and " When you 're tired," 

she said, 
'* I bid you welcome ; come and rest with me." 
But she was busy like the rest, and left 
Us only out of all the world to be 
Idle and happy by the idle sea. 

And there were colors cast upon the sea 
Whose names I know not, and upon the land 
The shapes of shadows that I never saw ; 
And faintly far I felt a strange moon stand, — 
Yet still we sat there, hand in clinging hand, 

And talked, and talked, and talked, as if it 

were 
Our last long chance to speak, or you to me 



THAT NEVER WAS ON SEA OR LAND. 1 5 

Or I to you, for this world or the next ; 
And still the fishervvomen busily 
Passed by, and still the ships sailed to the 
sea. 

But by and by the sea, the earth, the sky, 
Took on a sudden color that I knew ; 
And a wild wind arose and beat at them. 
The fisherwomen turned a deadly hue. 
And I, in terror, turned me unto you, 

And wrung my wretched hands, and hid my 

face. 
" O, now I know the reason, Love," I said, 
" We 've talked, and talked, and talked the live- 
long day. 



1 6 THAT NEVER WAS ON SEA OR LAND. 

Like strangers, on the day that we were wed ; 
For I remember now that you were dead!" 

I woke afraid : around the half-lit room 

The broken darkness seemed to stir and creep ; 

I thought a spirit passed before my eyes ; 

The night had grown a thing too dread for 

sleep, 
And human life a lot too sad to weep. 

Beneath the moon, across the silent lawn, 

The garden paths gleamed white, — a mighty 

. cross 
Cut through the shadowed flowers solemnly : 
Like heavenly love escaped from earthly dross. 
Or heavenly peace born out of earthly loss. 



THAT NEVER WAS ON SEA OR LAND. 1/ 

And wild my uncalmed heart went question- 
ing it : 
" Can that which never has been ever be ? " 
The solemn symbol told me not, but lay 
As dumb before me as Eternity, 
As dumb as you are when you look at me. 



DIVIDED. 

If an angel that I know 
Should now enter, sliding low 
Down the shaft of quiet moonlight that rests 
upon the floor ; 
And if she should stir and stand 
With a lily in her hand, 
And that smile of treasured stillness that she 
wore, 

Should I, falling at her feet, 
Brush or kiss her garments sweet ? 



DIVIDED. 19 

Would their lowest least white hem upon me 
unworthy, fall ? 
Or would she guarded, stand, 
Drop the lily in my hand, 
And go whispering as she vanished, " This is 
all " ? 



THE LOST WINTER. 

Deep-hearted as an untried joy 

. The warm light blushes on the bay, 
And placid as long happiness 
The perfect sky of Florida. 

Silent and swift the gulls wheel by, — 
Fair silver spots seen flittingly 

To sparkle like lost thoughts, and dip 
And vanish in a silver sea. 

And green with an immortal spring 
The little lonely islands stand ; 



THE LOST WINTER. 21 

And lover-like, the winds caress 

The fresh-plucked roses in my hand. 

And sweet with all the scents of June, 
And gentle with the breath of May, 

And passionate with harvest calm, 

Dawns the strange face of Christmas-day. 

O vanished world of ache and chill ! 

If purple-cold the shadows blow 
Somewhere upon the shrunken cheeks 

Of wan, tormented drifts of snow ; 

And if, beneath the steady stare 
Of a pale sunset's freezing eye, 



22 THE LOST WINTER. 

The coming tempest, lurking, stabs 
The lonely traveller hurrying by, — 

What art can make me understand ? 

What care I, can I care to know ? 
Star-like, among the tender grass, 

The little white wild-flowers show ! 



There is no winter in the world ! 

There is no winter anywhere ! 
Earth turns her face upon her arm,' 

And sleeps within the golden air. 

If once within the story told — 
Of peace or pain, of calm or strife 



THE LOST WINTER. 23 

The clear revealed sequences 
Of every finished human life, 

It chanceth that the record reads : 

This wanderer, something torn and tossed 

By certain storms he had passed through. 
And something faint and chilly, lost 

Just here a little while the sense 

Of winter from his heavy heart, 
And felt within his life the roots 

Of spring eternal stir and start ; 

Could not one blessed little while, 
For very happiness, believe 



24 THE LOST WINTER. 

That anywhere upon God's earth 

Souls could be cold and worn and live, — 

That blessed once a glory were 

Enough, I think, to crown one's days. 

O swift-departing days of youth, 
Lend me your evanescent grace 

Of fancy, while my graver years 
Like happy children rise and bless 

The shadow of the memory of 

Love's sweet and helpless selfishness ! 

Ah, many, many years shall learn 

To blush and bloom as young years may, 

But only once the soul forget 
All else but its own Florida ! 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Cold Care and I have run a race, 
And I, fleet-foot, have won 

A little space, a little hour, 
To find the May alone. 

I sit beneath the apple-tree, 

I see nor sky nor sun ; 
I only know the apple-buds 

Are opening one by one. 

You asked me once a little thing, — 



A lecture or a song 



26 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

To hear with you ; and yet I thought 
To find my whole life long 



Too short to bear the' happiness 
That bounded through the day, 

That made the look of apple-blooms, 
And you, and me, and May ! 



For long between us there had hung 
The mist of love's young doubt ; 

Sweet, shy, uncertain, all the world 
Of trust and May burst out. 



I wore the flowers in my hair, 
Their color on my dress ; 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 2/ 

Dear Love ! whenever apples bloom 
In Heaven, do they bless 

Yotir heart with memories so small, 

So strong, so cruel-glad ? 
If ever apples bloom in Heaven, 

I wonder are you sad ? 

Heart! yield thee up thy fruitless quest 

Beneath the apple-tree; 
Youth comes but once, love only once, 

And May but once to thee! 



RAIN. 

What can the brown earth do, 
Drenched and dripping through 
To the heart, and dazzled by the sight 
Of the Hght 
That Cometh after rain ? 

What can the hurt life do, 
Healing through and through, 
Caught and captured by the slow increase 
Of the peace 
That Cometh after pain ? 



RAIN. 29 

I would not miss the flower 
Budded in the shower 
That lives to lighten all the wealthy scene 
Where rain has been, 
That blossoms after pain ! 



PETRONILLA. 

Of Peter's daughter, it is said, men told. 
While yet she breathed, a tale as sad as life. 
As sweet as death ; which, now she sleeps, has 

lent 
The borrower Time its lighter tints, and holds 
Only the shadowed outline of a grief 
Before our eyes. 

Thus much remains. She lived, 
Yet lived not ; breathed, yet stifled ; ate, but 

starved ; 
The ears of life she had, but heard not ; eyes. 



PETRONILLA. 3 1 

But saw not ; hands, but handled neither bud 
Nor fruit of joy : for the great word of God, 
In some dim crevice of eternal thought 
Which he called Petronilla, had gone forth 
Against her — for her — call it what we may. 
And, bending to his will unerringly. 
As bends the golden feather of the grain 
Before the footsteps of the mailed west-wind. 
Since childhood she had lain upon her bed 
In peace and pain, nor had ever raised her 

body 
Once to its young lithe length, to view the dawn 
Of all her young lithe years, nor had once laid 
Her little feverish feet upon the face 
Of the cool, mocking, steadfast floor which 

laughed 



32 PETRONILLA. 

When other girls, with other thinking done 
Some time in Heaven about their happy names, — 
Set like a song about their happy names, — 
Tripped on it like a trill. 

As one may see 
Upon the hushed lips of a Sabbath-day 
A church door sliding softly as a smile, 
To let the solemn summer sunshine in 
To dream upon, but neither guess nor tell 
The dusky week-day secrets which the dome 
Whispers the darkened niches and the nave. 
Where in the purple silence which they love 
The marble angels sleep, or weep, or sing, 
(Who knoweth what they do on Monday morn- 
ings ?) 
So slides the tale on Petronilla, left 



PETRONILLA. 33 

Upon a certain dull, wan day alone, 
Her face turned on her pillow to the room 
Wherein the wise and faithful met (for faith 
With wisdom married then ; none forbid the 

banns 
Within the temple of the hearts of men), 
To break their bread with Peter, and discourse 
Of all the sacred, secret things ; the hopes. 
The fears, the solemn ecstasies, and dreams, 
And deeds, which held Hfe in the arms of death, 
For the first namers of the name of Christ. 
And lying there, at rest, adream, asleep, 
She scarce could tell her state, so dim it was, 
Such lifeless reflex of the hueless day, 
A voice struck Petronilla, — Peter's voice, 
Solemn and mighty as a lonely wave 

2* C 



34 PETRONILLA. 

Upon an untrod shore. " O brethren, hark ! 
Ye know not what ye say ; your minds are dark. 
O ye of Httle faith, I show you then ! 
By his great power I show you. Watch with 

me, 
For he is here. Abase your heads ; he hves ; 
It is his will I do his will, and show 
The power of God in that he once hath lived 
And died, but lives to work his glory still, — 
To work his wish, unargued, undisturbed, 
Without resistance or appeal or blame, 
Upon the creature which his hands have made. 
Were it his choice to raise yon maiden now 
From out the coffin of her bed, and bid 
Her step, — or live ; it means the same, — what 

then } 



PETRONILLA. 35 

Is that too much for him to do ? What now ? 
Is that too hard ? Increase your faith ! Be- 
hold ! " 

Awake, asleep, adream, or all, or none, 
What ailed Petronilla? The world spun 
Like a frail spindle in a woman's hands. 
And all her breath went from her, and her sight, 
At the faint fancy of her father, still, 
Alone, alight within the room ; as solemn 
And sad and glad as had a vision been 
Of a choice taper set to spend itself, 
And blaze and waste upon an altar's brow. 
Not taught nor knowing wherefore, — burning 

out. 
Since that 's a taper's nature, and enough. 



36 PETRONILLA. 

And faint the fancy of his face, if his 

It were. And faint the fancy of his voice, 

Which lost its way, so Petronilla thought, 

Or twice or thrice, before it bridged the bit 

Of fanciful, faint sunlight which crawled in 

Between his pitying, awful face and hers, 

And " Petronilla," sighing softly, said, 

And " Petronilla ! " ringing cried, " Arise ! 

" Now, in the name of Christ who lived for thee, 

I bid thee live, and rise, and walk ! " 

Erect, 
Unaided, with a step of steel, she rose. 
What should she do but rise ? And walked ; 

how else ? 
For God had said it, sent it, dropped it down, 
The sweetest, faintest fancy of her life. 



PETRONILLA. ' 37 

And fancying faintly how her feet dropped far 
Below the dizzy dancing of her eyes, 
Adown the listening floor ; and fancying 
How all the rising winds crept mutely up 
The court, and put their arms around her neck 
For joy ; and how for joy the sun broke through 
The visor which the envious day had held 
Across his happy face, and kissed her hair ; 
And fancying faintly how those men shrank back, 
And pulled their great gray beards at sight of 

her, 
And nodded, as becometh holy men. 
Approvingly, at wonders, as indeed 
They 'd bade her walk themselves, — so mus- 
ingly, 
As she had been a fancy of herself. 



38 PETRONILLA. 

She found herself live, warm and young, within 
The borders of the live, warm world. 

But still, 
As faintly as a fancy fell the voice 
Of Peter : " Serve us, daughter, at the board." 
And dimly as a fancy served she them, 
And sweetly as a fancy to and fro 
Across the gold net of the lightening day 
She passed and paused. 

Caught in its meshes fast ; 
Tangled into the happy afternoon. 
Tangled into the sense of life and youth, 
Bhnd with the sense of motion, leap of health. 
And wilderness of undiscovered joy, 
Stood Petronilla. Down from out her hand 
A little platter dropped, and down upon 



PETRONILLA. 39 

Her hands her face dropped, broken like the ware 
Of earth that sprinkled all the startled floor, 
And down upon her knees her face and hands 
Fell, clinging to each other ; crouching there 
At Peter's feet, — her father's feet, — she gave 
One little, little longing cry, — no more ; 
And like the fancy of a cry, — so faint ; 
And like the angel of a cry, — so brave. 
For Peter's face had lifted like the heavens, 
Above the presence of the holy men, 
Above the maiden serving in the sun, 
Above — God help him ! — God's own princely 

gift, 
The pity which a father bears his child. 
And far and calm as heaven is shone his smile, 
And far and still as heaven is fell his voice, 



40 PETRONILLA. 

Yet held a cadence like a prisoned pain, 
As one twice- wrecked upon the same bare shore. 
" The Lord hath chosen Petronilla. Hearken ! 
Whom he will choose, he chooseth : some to 

honor, 
Some to dishonor ; this to be and bear. 
And that to dare and do ; these bear his swords. 
And these his chains. Nay, but, O man ! what 

then } 
Who art thou that shalt mould the mood of 

God, 
Or search his meaning, or defy his will ? 
On Petronilla he will work his power. 
O, what is Petronilla } What am I ? 
Nay, nay, my child, I tremble; this is wrong. 
Thou meanest ; that is strange, for he is here 



PETRONILLA. 4 1 

To show his glory on thy young, bent head, 
And Uttle smile and hands. O, lift them up 
Before him, while I speak the word he sent. 
For, by the love of him who died for thee, 
Commandment comes ; and I must bid thee turn 
And lay thee down upon thy patient bed 
Again ; for what am I, and what art thou ? 
So turn and lay thee down. Behold it, Lord ! 
'T is finished. Master ! Petronilla, go. 
God's hand is on thee, O my child ; God's grace 
Go with thee. Brethren, see ! His will is done, 
And shall be done upon us evermore." 
And there the wonder fell, so runs the tale ; 
For Petronilla turned her dumb as death, 
And laid her down upon her empty bed, 
Where a lone sunbeam warm as life had curled ; 



42 PETRONILLA. 

And crept within it, white as sifted snow, 
Nor ever raised her slender length again, 
Nor ever dropped her foot upon the floor, 
Nor ever felt the winds from up the court 
Weave arms about her neck ; nor ever found 
Herself entangled more within the gold 
Warp of the moving, merry world ; nor once 
Again knew even the palHd happiness 
Which comes of serving holy men ; nor felt 
The leap of hfe within her shrivelled veins. 
And there the legend breaks : what good or ill 
Struck arms or folded wings about the heart 
Of Petronilla ; how fared she, prisoned 
Behind the bars of that untragic woe, 
The bearing of an old famihar fate 
From which long use has rubbed the gilding out. 



PETRONILLA. 43 

To which the wonted hours have set themselves 
So sorely they can neither smile nor sigh 
To think of it, but only drop the lids 
Across their leaden eyes for wondering 
What a glad chance an unworn grief must be ; 
What solemn musings marshalled in his mind 
Who was the Rock on which Christ built a 

church 
Of such as love nor son nor daughter more 
Than him, — we know not ; rude our guesses 

are, 
And rough ; and mar the shady, sacred hush 
Which the raised fingers of the years enforce. 

The story slips, — an echo like the voice 
Of far-off, falling water yet unseen ; 



44 PETRONILLA. 

A puzzle, like our next-door neighbor's life ; 

A lesson which an angel on the wing 

Might drop, but linger not to read to us. 

Or mark the stint. Each heart steals forth alone 

A little after twilight, and takes home 

The leaf, the line, appointed unto it. 



TWO IFS. 

If it might only be 
That in the singing sea, 
The Hviiig, lighted sea, 
There were a place for you to creep 
Away, among the tinted weeds, and sleep, 
A cradled, curtained place for you 
To take the happy rest for two I 

And then if it might be 

Appointed unto me 

(God knows how sweet to me !) 



46 TWO IFS. 

To plunge into the sharp surprise 
Of burning battle's blood and dust and cries, 
And face the hottest fire for you, 
And fight the bitter fight for two ! 



A QUESTION. 

If there be a land * 
Where our longings stand, 
Like angels strong and sweet 
With wings at head and feet, 
Released from their long ward 
And durance, put on guard 
For strength and meetness. 
All the stronger for their sweetness, 
All the sweeter for their strength, — 
In such a land at length, 
I wonder, would it ever be 
That I could give a little love to thee? 



A QUESTION. 

If in such a place 
I should see a face 
Seen now so long ago 
That I should scarcely know 
If it might be the same ; 
And if one spoke my name, 
However faintly, 
In the old way, — stealing saintly, 
Like a chant upon my ear, — 
In such a place I fear 
Me, it could never, never be 
That thou couldst have a little love from me. 



IN TEETH OF FATE. 

Let us sit in our darkening weather, 
Dear Heart ! alone together 
For a while, 
And talk it all over bravely. 

Nay, lift me not up that white, sweet smile 
We '11 face what is coming bravely or gravely, - 
But I cannot bear that smile. 

No, I did not say the dying. 
But those departing, flying 
Far away. 



50 IN TEETH OF FATE. 

Smile so. Come a little nearer ! 

I can better think what I had to say. 
My darling, my darling ! stay nearer, be dearer ! 

We will talk some other day. 



"DID YOU SPEAK?" 

I SAW the prettiest picture 

Through a garden fence to-day, 

Where the liUes look like angels 
Just let out to play, 

And the roses laugh tb see them 
All the sweet June day. 

Through a hole behind the woodbine, 

Just large enough to see 
(By begging the lilies' pardon) 

Without his seeing me. 



52 "did you speak?" 

My neighbor's boy, and Pharaoh, 
The finest dog you '11 see, 

If you search from Maine to Georgia, 

For a dog of kingly air, 
And the tolerant, high-bred patience 

The great St. Bernards wear, 
And the sense of lofty courtesy 

In breathing common air. 

I called the child's name, — " Franko ! " 
Hands up to shield my eyes 

From the jealous roses, — " Franko ! " 
A burst of bright surprise 

Transfixed the little fellow 
With wide, bewildered eyes. 



"DID YOU SPEAK?" 53 

" Franko ! " Ah, the mystery ! 

Up and down, around, 
Looks Franko, searching gravely 

Sky and trees and ground. 
Wise wrinkles on the eyebrows ! 

Studying the sound. 

" O Franko ! " Puzzled Franko ! 

The lilies will not' tell ; 
The roses shake with laughter, 

But keep the secret well ; 
The woodbine nods importantly. 

" Who spoke .? " cried Franko. " Tell ! " 

The trees do not speak English ; 
The calm great sky is dumb ; 



54 "DID YOU SPEAK?" 

The yard and street are silent ; 
The old board-fence is mum ; 
Pharaoh lifts his head, but, ah ! 
■ Pharaoh too is dumb. 

Grave wrinkles on his eyebrows, 

Hand upon his knee, 
Head bared for close reflection, 

Lighted curls blown free, — 
The child's soul to the brute's soul 

Goes out earnestly. 

From the child's eyes to the brute's eyes. 

And earnestly and slow, 
The child's young voice falls on my ear 

" Did you speak, Pharaoh ? " 



" DID YOU SPEAK ? " 55 

The bright thought growing on him, — 
" Did fou speak, Pharaoh ? " 

I can but think if Franko 

Would teach us all his way 
Of listening and trusting, — 

The wise, wise Franko way ! — 
The world would learn some summer 

To hear what dumb things say. 



BROKEN RHYTHM. 

My oars keep time to half a rhyme, 
That slips and slides away from me. 

Across my mind, like idle wind, 
A lost thought beateth lazily. 

Adream, afloat, my little boat 
And I alone steal out to sea. 

One vanished year, O Lost and Dear ! 
You rowed the little boat for me. 

Ah, who can sing of anything 
With none to listen lovingly .? 

Or who can time the oars to rhyme 
When left to row alone to sea } 



ON THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 

It chanceth once to every soul, 

Within a narrow hour of doubt and dole, 

Upon Life's Bridge of Sighs to stand, 
*'A palace and a prison on each hand." 

O palace of the rose-heart's hue ! 

How like a flower the warm light falls from you ! 

O prison with the hollow eyes ! 
Beneath your stony stare no flowers arise. 
3* 



58 ON THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 

O palace of the rose-sweet sin ! 

How safe the heart that does not enter in ! 

O blessed prison-walls ! how true 

The freedom of the soul that chooseth you ! 



HIDE-AND-GO-SEEK. 

Happiness has found me out, 

Found me out at last ! 
O, she 's dogged me round about ; 
All my hurrying life she 's chased me, 
Treading hard and hot she 's raced me, 
Almost touched me, all but faced me, — 

Here she is, at last ! 

Wary were you. Happiness ! 

Patient to the last ! 
From your thankless business 



60 HIDE-AND-GO-SEEK. 

Laggard Time has come to free you. 
Always driven by Fate to flee you, 
Never did I think to see you 
Track me down at last ! 



. GIVING OF THANKS. 

Deep in the brooding shadow of thy wing, 

Hidden and hushed and harbored here, 
My soul for very stillness cannot sing ; 

A word would rend the silence, and a tear 
Of joy affront the sense of cool and dark and rest. 

Unto the music of thine endless calm 

Sing thou then for me! Thy. glad child 
Sheltered and saved, wrapped all about from 
harm, 
Happy to be helpless, — and thy child ; 
Can only turn and sleep within the blessed rest, 



62 GIVING OF THANKS. 

Can only drop the gifts which thou hast given 

Back in thy lavish hand. O wealth 
Of fulness ! that for life, for love, for Heaven, 
For thyself, thou shouldst thank thyself 
In me; and leave me mute and motionless, — 
at rest. 



FEELING THE WAY, 

Feeling the way, — and all the way up hill ; 
But on the open summit, calm and still, 
The feet of Christ are planted ; and they stand 
In view of all the quiet land. 

Feeling the way, — and though the way is dark, 
The eyelids of the morning yet shall mark 
Against the East the shining of his face. 
At peace upon the lighted place. 

Feeling the way, — and if the way is cold, 
What matter? — since upon the fields of gold* 
His breath is melting ; and the warm winds sing 
While rocking summer days for him. 



LEARNING TO PRAY. 

My inmost soul, O Lord, to thee 

Leans like a growing flower 
Unto the light. I do not know 

The day nor blessed hour 
When that deep-rooted, daring growth 

We call the heart's desire 
Shall burst and blossom to a prayer 

Within the sacred fire 
Of thy great patience ; grow so pure, 

So still, so sweet a thing 
As perfect prayer must surely be. 

And yet my heart will sing 



LEARNING TO PRAY. 6$ 

Because thou seem'st sometimes so near. 

Close-present God! to me, 
It seems I could not have a wish 

That was not shared by thee ; 
It seems I cannot be afraid 

To speak my longings out, 
So tenderly thy gathering love 

Enfolds me round about ; 
It seems as if my heart would break, 

If, living on the light 
I should not lift to thee at last 

A bud of flawless white. 
And yet, O helpless heart ! how sweet 

To grow, and bud, and say : 
The flower, however marred or wan. 

Shall not be cast away. 

E 



WHAT THE SHORE SAYS TO THE SEA. 

EBB-TIDE. 

Old, old, 
Centuries old, 
How old a love is, who can say ? 
It is an ancient day 

Since thou and I wert wed. 
The orbed sky bent down, 
A fiery, scornful crown. 
Not craven pale as now, 
Live-red to bind thy brow, 
Crested red and lonely 
Only 
To coronet thy head. 



WHAT THE SHORE SAYS TO THE SEA. 6/ 

Thou, I, 
Beneath His eye, 

Existed solitary, grand. 
O only life ! the life of sea and land ! 
All puny heritage 
Of puny love and loss. 
Came mimic after us ; 
Our mighty wedlock meant 
More than their supplement. 
Ere these, we perfect were, 
And are, 
In pain and privilege. 

My own true-hearted ! 
Since first He parted 
Thee from me, 



68 WHAT THE SHORE SAYS TO THE SEA. 

Behold and see 
How dreary, mute, 
Bound hand and foot, 
Stretched, starved, I He ! 
I hear thee stepping by. 
And weep to see 
Thee yearn to me. 
Bound by an awful Will 
Forever and forever thou dost move 
An awful errand on. 
O Love 1 
Steal up and say, — is there below, above ; 
In height or depth, or choice or unison. 
Of woes a woe like mine, — 
To lie so near to thine, 

And yet forever and forever to lie still ! 



WHAT THE SEA SAYS TO THE SHORE. 

FLOOD-TIDE. 

O Sweet ! 
I kiss thy feet. 
It is permitted me 
So much to keep of thee, 
So much to give to thee. 
Reverently 
I touch thy dusky garments' hem. 
Thy dazzling feet lie bare ; 
But now the moonlit air, 
In hurrying by, did gaze at them. 



70 WHAT THE SEA SAYS TO THE. SHORE. 

Who can guess 
The temper of a love denied ? 
See ! to my lips I press, — 
I press and hide 
Thy sweet 
Sad feet, 



And cover them from sight of all the world. 



Till thou and I were riven apart, 
Never was it known 
By any one 
That storms could tear an ocean's heart. 
Nor shall it be again 
That storms can cause an ocean pain. 

But when He said : 
*' No farther, thus far, shalt thou go ; 



WHAT THE SEA SAYS TO THE SHORE. /I 

And here, 

In fear, 
Shall thy proud waves be stayed," — 
Rasfinoc, rebel, and afraid, 
What could shore or ocean do ? 

Fling down thy long loose hair 
For a little share 
Of the little kiss I still may bring to thee. 

O Love ! turn unto me ! 
The hours are short that I may be 

Rich though so scantily, 
Blest although so broken-hearted. 
Sweet my Love ! when we are parted, 
When unheard orders bid me go 
Obedient to an unknown Will, 



72 WHAT THE SEA SAYS TO THE SHORE. 

The pain of pains selects me so, 
That I imist gOy and thou lie still. 
While yet my lips may hunger near thy feet, 
Turn to me, Sweet ! 



ATALANTA. 

Atalanta and I know better ! 
Distrust you the fable of old, 
Of the envious Goddess who set her 
On to defeat by tempting her soul 

With the wily bright roll 
Of an apple of treacherous gold. 

Distrust the story which tells you 

She loitered with willing, shy feet. 

A doubt on the myth which compels you 

Ever to dream that she lingered to lose 



74 ATALANTA. 

In the race, or to choose 
In Love's contest an easy defeat ! 

She never could Knger, no, never ! 

To Jielp poor Hippomenes by ! 

Fleet-footed, stern-hearted, forever, 

She keeps to the goal. Let him win if he can ! 

If he be not the man 
Born for winning, why then let him die ! 

The fable was twisted ! I plant a 
Firm foot of assurance on this. 
Some woman — but not Atalanta — 
Lingered to lose; and stooped to enhance 

By a sweet trick the chance 
Of being defeated by bliss ! 



A LETTER. 

Two things love can do, 

Only two : 
Can distrust, or can believe ; 
It can die, or it can live, 
There is no syncope 
Possible to love or me. 

Go your ways ! 

Two things you can do, 

Only two : 
Be the thing you used to be. 
Or be nothing- more to me. 



76 A LETTER. 

I can but joy or grieve, 
Can no more than die or live. 
Go your ways ! 

So far I wrote, my darling, drearily, 
But now my sad pen falls down wearily 
From out my trembling hand. 

I did not, do not, cannot mean it. Dear ! 
Come life or death, joy, grief, or hope, or fear, 
I bless you where I stand ! 

I bless you where I stand, excusing you, 
No speech nor language for accusing you 
My laggard lips can learn. 



A LETTER. 7/ 

To you — be what you are, or can, to me, — 
To you or blessedly or fatefully 
My heart must turn ! 



AN AUTUMN VIOLET. 

I SAW a miracle to-day ! 
Where the September sunshine lay 
Languidly as a lost desire 
Upon a sumach's fading fire, 
Where calm some pallid asters trod, 
Indifferent, past a golden-rod, 
Beside a gray-haired thistle set, — 
A perfect purple violet. 

I wonder what it were to miss 

The life of spring, and live like this ? 



AN AUTUMN VIOLET. 79 

To bloom so lone, to bloom so late, 
And were it worth the while to wait 
So long for such a little day ? 
And were it not a better way 
Never, indeed, (worse might befall,) 
To be a violet at all ? 

So lonely when the spring was gone, 
So calm when autumn splendors shone, 
So peaceful midst the blazing flowers, 
So blessed through the golden hours. 
So might have bloomed my love for thee. 
It is not, and it cannot be, — 
It cannot, must not be, — and yet, 
I picked for thee the violet. 



DESERTED NESTS. 

I 'd rather see an empty bough, — 
A dreary, weary bough that hung 
As boughs will hang within whose arms 
No mated birds had ever sung ; 

Far rather than to see or touch 
The sadness of an empty nest 
Where joy has been but is not now. 
Where love has been but is not blest. 

There is no sadness in the world, 
No other like it here or there, — 
The sadness of deserted homes 
In nests, or hearts, or anywhere. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

The breakers warned them from the sea, 
The late Hght hired them up the, shore 

The jewels of the golden-rod 

Blazed deep as topaz to the core ; 

The far fields watched them silently 

And blessed them like the peace of God. 

" If we could always walk," she said, 
"As now we 're walking up the shore, 

I think how happy we might be ! 
To walk and talk forevermore, 

4* F 



82 THE DIFFERENCE. 

Without a care without a dread, 
That were enough for you and me!" 

" O cruel-calm ! you know," said he, 

*' The man who dares to spend with you 

An hour like this on sea or shore, 
Can never teach his fancy to 

Practise such sweet humility, 

Must all his life go wanting more!" 



CONGRATULATION. 

You told the story of your love ; 

I heard as one who did not hear ; 
Across the opening lips of hope 

Crept the slow finger of a fear. 

Against the kind deceit which hides 
From love's beginning all love's end, 

In thoughtful mood I boldly lift 
The honest trouble of a friend. 

You 've chosen thus : not thus, indeed, 
I would have chosen fate for you, 



84 CONGRATULATION. 

And if you missed the possible 

And for the sweet had lost the true ; 



If 'neath the perfect palm of love 

You might have knelt, — in kneeling, blest,— 
And if you chose instead to wear 

A little rose upon your breast ; 

If, for the tidal wave of life 

Mistook a little ripple blue, 
While fathoms deep below your line 

The sea's lost treasures sleep for you ; 

Why, then, what then ? You 've only missed 
A wealth your calm eyes never saw. 



CONGRATULATION. Q 

Be fate and nature kind to you, 
Yourself unto yourself your law ! 

No Moses ever part for you 

The wonders of the deep's rich gloom ! 
Nor ever lead, the dry sands oer, 

Into the long-lost palm-land's bloom ! 

Ah! never, never may. you know, 

For little waves trip merrily ; 
And never, never may you know, 

For sweet the little roses be. 

And should my doubts and dreams be both 
Blindfold, as dreams and doubts may be ; 



86 CONGRATULATION. 

Should love's unwisdom truer prove 
To you than my wise fears to me ; 



Since God's own purpose over ours 

Is folded softly like a wing, 
And love's best knowledf^e to love's self 



Must own, I know not anything ! 



Why then — ah ! then. Go you his ways, 
Not mine. His is the summer sea, 

On which the little waves shall trip ; 
And his the little roses be. 

But if into one lot there came 
(As into one I haply knew) 



CONGRATULATION. 8/ 

The flower's scent, the forest's strength, 
The depth's reserve, the ripple's hue ; 

If it fell out to Heaven's mind 

To give one both the sweet and true, — 
Though Heaven asked it back again, — 

That lost lot I 'd not change with you. 



GOOD-BY. 

God be with you ! through my losing 
And my grieving, shall I say ? 

Through my smiling and my hoping, 
God be with you, friend, to-day ! 

Somewhere, on a Shore of Silver, 
(God be with you on the way !) 

In a sunlight sifted richly 

From a thousand skies of May, 

In a dream of June's white roses, 
In a chant of waters low. 



GOOD-BY. 89 

In a glory of red maples, 

A hush of moonlight upon snow, 

In the meanings of the sunrise, 

In the heart of summer rain, 
In the soul of purple hazes, 

We will not say good by again. 

But the tears dash through my dreaming, 
And the thing I fain would say 

Falters into this, — this only: 
God be with you till that dayl 



TWO FACES. 

" Would I could see ! " I heard one say but now, 
" The strongest woman and the tenderest man 
That ever God had dared put in the world ! '' 
And I, who did not speak, because one can 
Tell out one's sweetest secret to the sky 
Sometimes with greater ease than one can speak 
It at some others to a friend's close ear, 
Went up into the gallery of my soul 
Silent and smiling and assured, to see 
Some pictures that are hung there on the wall. 
Whereat my soul and I on leisure days 
Sit gazing and sit thirsting by ourselves. 



TWO FACES. 91 

And one there is that looketh down to me 
Less like a face than Hke a star, for when 
With closed eyes I would think what it is like 
I only can remember that it shines. 
But when I turn again to con and learn 
Its lineaments like a lesson in my thought, 
The forehead has the look that marble has 
When it has drawn the sunlight to its heart. 
And if St. John had fought the Dragon, then 
He might have had perhaps such eyes as that 
(But still I do not tell you what the eyes 
Are like, nor can I, and I am not sure, 
Indeed, that I should tell you if I could). 
O, straight they look the world into the face ! 
And never have they dropped before its gaze. 
And never sunk they down abashed, to hide 



92 TWO FACES. 

A glance of which their own light was ashamed. 
And if an unclean thing had chanced to step 
Into the presence of such eyes, pierced, scorched. 
It would have shrunk before their stabs, but ere 
It could have risen to flee, it would have dropped, 
And cowered moaning in the dust, because 
It felt itself a thing they pitied so ! 
And then the mouth ! — I never saw a moulh. 
Another one, that seemed to think and feel 
At once like this. If haply lips hke these 
Had found a word for which the whole round 

earth 
Were waiting, while they spoke the word, I think 
They 'd quiver most because upon that day 
The woman that they loved had touched them, 

— said, 



TWO FACES. 93 

" Go speak, my lips, and make me proud ! " — 

the most 
For that than for the worth of either work or world. 

And one there is (across the gallery's width 

This picture hangs), a graver face, and touched 

A little with a sadness such as that 

Which might have fallen on the countenance 

Of Esther in the story, when she left 

Her throne to perisb for her people's sake ; 

The sadness of a soul bound fast to bear — 

Whether by fate or choice it knoweth not — 

Within itself the sorrows of a race, 

A kind, to which it has no gladder tie 

Than the blind old mystery of kin ; urged on 

By something in its nature like a cry 



94 TWO FACES. 

That will be heard, come Hfe, come death ! to lay 
Aside the crown, the robe of royalty, 
And mediate, a suppliant, for its own. 
If she perish, she must perish! — but must go. 
Though she perish, let her perish! — let her go. 
Soft falls the hair about this other face, 
Leaving a shadow like a shadow thrown 
By leafless trees upon a snow-drift's brow, 
A slender shelter for the dazzling white. 
And out from it look steady eyes that hide 
Their perfect meaning from the casual gaze, 
And out from it there leans a flying smile, 
As one smiles turning slowly from the page 
In which his heart is left to hear 
The sweetest interruption in the world 
More languidly than lovingly. I think 



TWO FACES. 95 

You 'd never pause to speculate or guess 

Which interruption were the dearer fret 

To her, but only what the lesson was 

O'er which she bent, and only wonder on 

If Esther had a smile like that ; and if 

Her people, when they saw it, understood 

The half of it ; and if the King will hold, 

As did Ahasuerus in the time 

Of old, his sceptre out, and ever call 

This unqueened Queen in triumph to her throne. 

And if there were on earth a tenderer strength ? 
Or if there were a stronger tenderness ? 
What matters it to me .'^ for now behold! 
That gallery in my longing soul is full, 
And God himself came up and shut the door. 



LAND-BOUND. 

All the day the light lies dreaming, dreaming, 

Quietly on the lea. 
All the day the ships go sailing, sailing, 

Over an unseen sea. 

Sentient, strong, the hill lies couching, crawling, 

Pressed close against the sky. 
Pierced by lances quivering, sharp, unerring, — 

The thin masts drifting by. 

All the night the breakers, distant, daring, 
Sing straight a solemn song ; 



LAND-EOUND. 97 

Day and night from unguessed ocean greatness 
Great winds are borne along. 

Night and day my eyes are gazing, straining, 

Filled fall of land-bound tears. 
My land-bound heart is full of little sorrows 

And full of little fears. 

O happy souls ! that soft go sailing, sailing, 

Over an unknown sea, 
Send some signal of your wafting, wandering. 

Across the hills to me ! 

Across the cruel hills, that stern and steadfast 

Sever you and me. 
Tell me sometimes of your peaceful, blessed 

Life upon the sea ! 



A MESSAGE. 

Was there ever message sweeter 

Than that one from Malvern Hill, 
From a grim old fellow — you remember ? 

Dying in the dark at Malvern Hill. 
With his rough face turned a little, 

On a heap of scarlet sand, 
They found him, just within the thicket. 

With a picture in his hand, — 

With a stained and crumpled picture 

Of a woman's aged face ; 
Yet there seemed to leap a wild entreaty, 

Young and living — tender — from the face 



A MESSAGE. 99 

When they flashed the lantern on it, 

Gilding all the purple shade, 
And stooped to raise him softly, — 

" That 's my mother, sir," he said. 

« 
" Tell her " — but he wandered, slipping 

Into tangled words and cries, — 
Something about Mac and Hooker, 

Something dropping through the cries 
About the kitten by the fire, 

And mother's cranberry-pies ; and there 
The words fell, and an utter 

Silence brooded in the air. 

Just as he was drifting from them, 
Out into the dark, alone, 



100 A MESSAGE. 

(Poor old mother, waiting for your message, 
Waiting with the kitten, all alone !) 

Through the hush his voice broke, — " Tell her 
Thank you, Doctor — when you can. 

Tell her that I kissed her picture, 
And wished I 'd been a better man." 

Ah, I wonder if the red feet 

Of departed battle-hours 
May not leave for us their searching 

Message from those distant hours. 
Sisters, daughters, mothers, think you. 

Would your heroes now or then, 
Dying, kiss yoiir pictured faces, 

Wishing they 'd been better men t 



ESCAPED. 

Just before you came, 
There stole into the air 
A thought without a name. 

Such a pretty thought ! 
Shy, and faint, and fair, — 



I wish I could have caught 



It when it came. 

And brought it unto you ; 

You would have found its name ! 



:02 ESCAPED. 

But when I turned, and would 
Have gathered it for you, 
And clasped it where it stood, 

It shook me out a pair 
Of unseen little wdngs, 
And vanished in the air. 

Do you like to hear 
Such foolish little things } 
Ah, truly, — tell me, dear ! 



SONG. 

Coldly the night-wind shivers on the hill-top, 
Cold crawls the pale-faced fog from off the sea ; 
Tossed by the one, and blinded by the other, 
Turn I my late steps longing unto thee ! 

Warm as thy glad hand, held in silence towards 

me. 
Shines out thy window's light across the lea ; 
Warm as a flower waiting for the south-wind, 
So waits thy sweet face sheltered there for me. 



104 SONG. 

Wild as the gale, and like the mist pervading 
The soul of the dark night, and the soul of me, 
Hoping or hopeless, for living or for dying. 
Turn I my late love forever unto thee ! 



"OF A FAMILY OF REFORMERS." 

Push the bursting buds away, 

Throw aside the ripened roses, 
Hush the low-voiced waters' play, 
Where the weary sun reposes 

With his head upon his hand, 
Grave and grand ! 
Now I stand. 
And shade my eyes to see 
What life shall mean to me. 

Cut the silver-hearted mist 

Stealing softly down the valley ; 
5* 



06 "OF A FAMILY OF REFORMERS. 

Blot me out the purple, kissed 

By phantoms crowned in gold, that rally 

Merrily upon the land, 

Gay and grand. 

Here I stand, 
And turn my eyes to see 
What hfe may mean to me. 

There seems — a path across a hill. 
But little worn (but little lonely), 
A climb into the twilight still ; 

There seems — a midnight watch, and only 
Through the dark a low command 
(Grave and grand), 
" Still you stand, 
And strain your eyes to see 
What life to you shall be." 



"OF A FAMILY OF REFORMERS.' ID/ 

The binding up of bruised reeds 

Of thought and act ; the steady bearing 
Out of scorned purposes to deeds, 

The rest of strife ; the doubt of daring, — 
The hope that He will understand 
Why my hand 
(Though I stand) 
Trembles at my eyes to see 
What else life means to me. 

The dropping of love's golden fruit, 

The slowly builded walls of distance. 
The outstretched hand, the meeting foot, 
Withdrawn in doubt, and drear, late chance 
Of cooling autumn ; wind and sand 
On the land. — 
But I stand, 



I08 "OF A FAMILY OF REFORMERS." 

And brush my tears to see 
All that life means to me. 

The honest choice of good or ill, 

A heart of marble, prayer, and fire, 
The strength to do, the power to will 
From earth's reluctance, Heaven's desire, 
And God's step upon the land 
(Grave and grand). ^ 

Glad I stand 
And lift my eyes to see 
The life He sends to me. 



A DEAD LILY. 

O PLACID, fainted lily ! 

You neither toiled nor spun ; 
You neither thought nor wrought, or well or 

illy, - 

And now your day is done. 

You lived — to be a lily. 

And should I gain or miss 
My life's long purposes or well or illy, 

What could I, more than this ? 



BENEDICTION. 

I WONDER will you take it, Dear, — 
My blessing, from me, when you hear 
For what it is you ask me ? 

The shrouded and averted thing, 
With hidden face upon its wing. 
With whose dark name you task me. 

The solemn, awful, smiling thing, 

With shining face upon its wing, 

And shining hand to hold you. 



BENEDICTION. I I I 

The promise of a princely friend, 
The richest gift I have to send, 

With which my love could fold you. 

So light to think ! so hard to say ! 
A bitter thing to give away ! 
So sweet an one to borrow ! 

Yet still, indeed, my dreaming fond 
Can never rise nor reach beyond 
The blessing, Dear, — of Sorrow. 



"ONLY A CHROMO." 

A BLESSING on the Art that dares 
(Cold critic, call it what you may !) 
Bring precious things to common homes 
A blessing fall on it, I say! 

Like Heaven's happy rain, that loves 
Upon the just and unjust to fall ; 
Th' impartial shelter of the skies. 
Or sun's heart beating warm for all ; 

So be it Art's high privilege 

To hold a language and a speech 



•'ONLY A CTIROMO. I 

With humble needs ; to lay its gifts — 
And gladly — in the common reach. 

So be it Art's insignia 

Of undisputed royalty, 

That out of largeness groweth love, 

And out of choiceness, charity. 

There is my picture, caught and throned 
Within four walls for me at last ; 
My eyes, which never thought to see 
Fit semblance of her, hold her fast. 

Murillo's Mary ! that one face 
We call the Immaculate. Ah, see 



14 "ONLY A CHROMO." 

How goddess-like she fills the room, 
How woman-like she leans to me. 

I would not garner in my home, 
I could not gather to my heart, 
A dim gray mockery of that face 



Chilled under the engraver's art. 



These human colors deepen, glow ; 
This human flesh will palpitate ; 
These human eyes, — like human eyes 
Alight, alive, — stir, watch, and wait 

Perhaps you wonder why I chose 



This single-windowed little room 



"ONLY A CHROMO." i 15 

Where only at the evenfall, 

A moment's space, the sunlight's bloom 

Shall open out upon the face 
I prize so dear ; I think, indeed, 
There 's something of a whim in that. 
And something of a certain need 

I could not make you understand, 
That solitude or sickness gives 
To take in somewhat solemn guise 
The blessings that enrich our lives. 

I like to watch the late, soft light, — 
No spirit could more softly come, — 



1 16 " ONLY A CHROMO. 

The picture is the only thing 
1 It tbuches in the darkening room. 

I wonder if to her indeed, 
The maiden of the spotless name, 
In holier guise or tenderer touch 
The annunciating angel came. 

Madonna Mary ! Here she lives ! 
See how my sun has wrapped her in ! 
O solemn sun ! O maiden face ! 
O joy that never knoweth sin ! 

How shall I name thee? How express 
The thoughts that unto thee belong? 



"ONLY A CHROMO.'* 11/ 

Sometimes a sigh interprets them, 
At other times, perhaps, a song. 

More often still it chanceth me 
They grow and group into a prayer 
That guards me down my sleepless hours, 
A sentry on the midnight air. 

But when the mornings monotone 
Begins of sickness or of pain, 
They catch the key, and, striking it. 
They turn into a song again. 



Great Master, whose enraptured eyes 
Saw maiden Mary's holy face. 



1 8 "only a chromo." 

Whose human hand could lift and move 
An earthly passion from its place, 

And set therein the spotless shape 
Which Heavenly love itself might wear, 
And set thereon the dazzling look 
Which Heavenly purity must bear ; 

Thy blessing on the Art must fall 
(If thou couldst speak as thou canst see) 
Which brings thy best to common homes, 
Thy mighty picture unto me. 



A WOMAN'S MOOD. 

Because you cannot pluck the flower, 
You pass the sweet scent by ; 

Because you cannot have the stars 
You will not see the sky 

No matter what the fable means 

Put into Enghsh speech ; 
No matter what the thing may be 

You long for, out of reach. 

'T is out of reach, and that 's enough 
For you and me for aye. 



I20 A WOMAN S MOOD. 

And understood in that still speech 
That souls interpret by. 

The " little language " of a look, 
A tone, a turn, a touch. 

An eloquence that while it speaketh 
Nothing, yet sayeth much. 

Suppose that in some steadfast hour 

I offered you the hand 
Of a woman's faithful friendliness — 

Ah, hush ! I understand. 



I spare you speech, to spare you pain ; 
Perhaps I 'd spare you more 



A WOMAN S MOOD. 

Than men are made to comprehend, 
If, as I said before, 

I held to you that open hand. 
And you should turn away 

I hardly know which one of us 
Were hurt the worse that day.- -- 

I hardly know the reason why. 
But women are so made ; 

I could not give a man a rose 
To see it 'neath his tread. 

Although he trod on it, indeed. 

To save his very soul 
6 



122 A WOMAN S MOOD. 

From stifling in the thoughts of me 
Its sweetness might enroll. 

I *d rather he should gather it 

Within his trembling hand 
As sacredly as twilight takes 

The shapes of sea and land, 

And solemnly as twilight learns, 

In lonely, purple state, 
Upon the hills the sun has fled 

To bide its time, and wait. 

For what ? — to wait for what, you ask ? 
1 cannot tell, indeed. 



123 



For what. I do not know for what 
It is the woman's creed ! 

I only know I 'd wait, and keep 

Steel-loyal and steel-true 
Unto the highest hope I held, 

Though 't were the saddest, too. 

Unto the deepest faith I had 

In a created thing ; 
Unto the largest love I knew. 

Though love's delight took wing 

And fled away from me, and left 



Love's dear regret alone. 



124 

The chrism of loving all I could, 
And loving only one. 

I think the woman I preferred — 

If I were such a man — 
Might lean out helpfully across 

My life's imperfect plan ; 

Might lend me mercy, grace, and peace 

In fashion womanly, 
Although I knew her rarest smile 

Would never shine on me ; 

I think I 'd say right manfully, — 
And so it all would end, — 



A WOMAN S MOOD. IZS 

Than any other woman's love, 
I 'd rather be /ler friend ! 

And take the hand she dared not hold, 

Before its courage slips, 
And take the word she could not speak 

From off her grieving lips, 

And be to her heart what I could 

(We will not mark the line), 
And, like a comrade, call her soul 

To walk in peace with mine. 

A nobler man for that grave peace, 
I think, dear friend, I were. 



26 A woman's mood. 

And richer were I than to lose 
My love in losing her. 

And if I speak a riddle, sir, 
That on your fancy jars, — 

You know we *re talking about flowers, 
And thinking about stars ! 



A MAN'S REPLY. 

That heart were something cold, I think, 

That on the light of stars relied 

For daily fire ; and cruel is 

The perfumed breath of flowers denied 

The longing, lifted human hand ; 

And bitter to the soul, I stand 

And fling your woman's fancies back 

Beneath' the woman's tender feet ! 

A woman only knoweth love 

To know that it is passing sweet, 



128 A man's reply. 

To know that all her heart is glad. 
Or else to know that she is sad 
Because it failed her ; and forsooth, 
I think she has an extra sense 
To love by, granted not to man: 
Love's measureless own recompense 
Consists in loving : there 's her creed. 
A pretty thought, in faith or deed ! 
A feminine fair thought, but false 
To man forever ! false as light 
To the born blind, as painted fruit 
To starving lips ; or as a bright 
Departing sail to drowning eyes. 
Arch not to me, in mild surprise, 
Those glorious calm brows of yours! 
Man loveth in another way! 



A MAN S REPLY. 1 29 

He cannot take the less without 

The more ; he has a bitter way 

In loving, that you know not of; 

No tireless, tender, calm resolve 

To take Fate's meagre crumbs whem dry 

From life's feast-tables overswept 

And salt them with his hidden, hot, 

Vain tears ! Contented to be kept 

As cup-bearer beside a goddess' place ! 

Contented so he see her face. 

Her dear, denied, sweet face, and die! 

lost, my love ! I tell you nay, 
You do not, cannot understand ; 
Man loveth in another way ! 

He is too strong, or is too weak : 

1 cannot be the friend you seek ! 

6* I 



30 A MAN S REPLY. 

And yet, in the incertitudes 

Of some uncomforted, cold moods, 

I cast my soul before you, Sweet! 
My very soul beneath your feet, 

And, daring and despairing, think 

That could I stoop but once and drink, - 

One little moment lean above 

The sealed, lost fountain of your love, — 

Could taste, just taste before I die. 
Its sacred, sheltered mystery, — 

Could call you for one hour mine ! 
One little, little hour mine ! — 



A man's reply. 131 

I think I could arise and go 

From out your presence then, and know 

Myself that possible poised man 
Who, living, loving, longing, can 

Yet make himself the thing he may, — 
Live in the woman's nobler way, — 

Love, asking Love no other gauge 
Than the exceeding privilege 

Of adding by some patient stress. 
Of pain, unto the happiness, — 

Or be it bright, or be it dim — 
Of the sweet soul denied to him. 



EVENING PRAYER. 

Take unto Thyself, O Father ! 

This folded day of thine, 

This weary day of mine. 
Its ragged corners cut me yet. 
O, still the jar and fret ! 
Father ! do not forget 
That I am tired 

With this day of thine. 

Breathe thy pure breath, watching Father! 
On this marred day of thine, 
This erring day of mine. 



EVENING PRAYER. 1 33 

Wash it white of stain and spot, 
O, cleanse its every blot ! 
Reproachful Eyes ! remember not 
That I have grieved thee 
On this day of thine ! 



SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE HARBOR. 

The boats bound in across the bar, 

Seen in fair colors from afar, 

Grown to dun colors strong and near ; 

Their very shadows seem to fear 

The shadows of a week of harms, 

The memories of a week's alarms, 

And quiver like a happy sigh 

As ship and shadow, drifting by, 

GHde o'er the harbor's peaceful face, • 

Each to its Sabbath resting-place. 

And some like weary children come. 
With sobbing sails, half sick for home ; 



SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE HARBOR. 1 35 

And some, like lovers' thoughts, to meet 
The veiled shore, spring daring, sweet ; 
And some reluctant, in the shade, 
The great reef dropt, like souls afraid. 
Creep sadly in. Against the shore 
Ship unto shadow turneth more 
And more. Ships, ocean, shadow, shore ! 
Part not, nor stir forevermore ! 

My thoughts sail inward silently, 

My week-day thoughts, O God, to thee ! 

Cold fears, evasive like a star, 

And hopes whose -gayest colors are 

Akin to shades of fear. Wild dreams 

Whose unimprisoned sweetness seems 

To-night a presence like a blame, 



136 SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE HARBOR. 

A solid presence like a shame : 
And faint temptations with held breath 
Make room for cares as dark as death, 
Give place to broken aims, that sail 
Dismasted from some heart-spent gale. 

And those come leaping lightly in, 
And these crawl laggard, as a sin 
Turned shoreward — Godward — ever must. 
My soul sits humble in the dust. 
Content to think that in His grace 
Each care shall find its Sabbath place, 
Content to know that, less or more 
No sin can harbor near the shore. 



THE LOST POEM. 

Flushed with fancies, I bethought me, 
'* Into music I will set them, 
Like a pearl into its setting 
Of the finest golden fretting ; 
Never shall the world forget them ; 
It shall sing me, ring me back the melody ; 
It shall rise and bless the poem while it bless- 
eth me." 

But, ah me ! some faintness ailed me, 
Or it ailed the music rather. 



138 THE LOST POEM. 

Was it all a stir of gladness ? 
Was it half a pang of sadness ? 
Do my best, I could not gather 
From my heart's store any chord of harmony ; 
No other thought was music to me but the 
thought of thee. 

Proud as joy my failure makes me ! 
Proud I sit and sing about it ; 
Not in finest poet-fashion, 
Not for deepest poet's passion, 
Would my soul 'have gone without it, 
While the old earth asketh song or psalmody. 
Heart, remember ! love shall still the truest 
music be ! 



ALL THE RIVERS. 

" All the rivers run into the sea." 
Like the pulsing of a river, 
The motion of a song, 
Wind the olden words along 
The tortuous turnings of my thoughts whenever 
I sit beside the sea. 

" All the rivers run into the sea." 
O you little leaping river, 



140 ALL THE RIVERS. 

Laugh on beneath your breath ! 
With a heart as deep as death, 
Strong stream, go patient, grave, and hasting 
never, — 
I sit beside the sea. 



" All the rivers run into the sea." 
Why the passion of a river ? 
The striving of a soul ? 
Calm the eternal waters roll 
Upon the eternal shore. At last, whatever 
Seeks it — finds the sea. 

"All the rivers run into the sea." 
O thou bounding, burning river, 



ALL THE RIVERS. I4; 

Hurrying heart ! I seem 
To know (so one knows in a dream) 
That in the waiting heart of God forever, 
Thou too shalt find the sea. 



THE END. 



Cambridge : Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 



